


Resurrection

by Nonsuch



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jupiter Ascending Fic Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonsuch/pseuds/Nonsuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jupiter Jones is dead, the order of Balem Abrasax fulfilled. So why, then, does he feel so cold?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurrection

She entered the room in a crude, foil-covered bodybag, and Balem Abrasax’s breath hitched as he witnessed its approach. It was flanked by members of his guard and trailed by the hunter Falque, an ugly, grizzled man with sun-roasted skin and a low-grade cybernetic eye. Once it hovered before him – close enough for him to reach out and touch it – the bodybag had its gravity reactivated, gently coming to rest in the turbulent red light filtered through the windows.  

Remaining seated, Balem levelled his gaze upon the bodybag – contemplating its contents, preparing himself to behold them – as he addressed the hunter. “I wish for you to relate the circumstances.”

“I ambushed them at the marshal’s house. She tried to run, but she picked the wrong direction.” The hunter grinned at the memory of his great success, revealing imbalanced rows of yellowed teeth.

“And how did she die?” Balem raised his eyes now to look at the man, sensitive to the merest sniff of deceit.

“She was unconscious from my zapper. I did the test, then shot ‘er through the head.”

“You did injury to her body?”

He sniffed, offended by the suggestion. “No, I used a current. Quick and clean. There’s not a mark on her. I follow orders.”

“Open the bag. Show her to me.”

Eager to finish the job - while more than happy to take their money, he harboured no love for the entitled - Falque lowered himself beside the bag and tugged at the zip. It stuck as he first pulled, and he began to speak to disguise the unwelcome, jarring scrapes of the metal tag. “I gave her the injection just after. She’ll still be nice and fresh, just like you wanted.”

Balem said nothing, but rose from his seat to bend so he could watch as she was displayed. The seal broke, and all was lost from the first glimpse of her face. Her beloved features were settled and calm now, undistorted by the fear that had twisted them in the hologram, undisguised by any mask. He moaned quietly as a cold shiver of dread resonated through his bones, the weight of her presence finally bearing down upon him, forcing him to his knees. He remained incapacitated until the unfurling picture – that divine image – was disturbed by crude, oil-stained fingers.

“ _You will not touch her_!” the screeching cry caused the hand to dart back, and Falque staggered to his feet, cursing to himself.

“I was just gettin’ her out for you.”

Voice trembling, Balem did not lift his gaze to dismiss him. “You are to leave. My assistant will deal with you from here.” Balem touched a finger to the node by his ear. “Mr Night, arrange for the hunter to be shown to the lab. Inform me when he is ready.”

“Hang on a minute! What about my bounty? What is this? You promised me payment!” Balem gave no reply, instead reaching a hand into the refrigerated confines of the body bag and cupping the back of the girl’s skull. He drew her forward gently, treating her corpse with more care than he had ever shown any living creature, intent on his task even as his guard extracted an increasingly vocal Falque from the room.

When the great metal door clanged shut and the disturbance gave way to silence, Balem pulled the girl free from the bag and heaved her into his arms. He set her down on his seat, her head lolling against the armrest. Her whole body felt cold – so troublingly cold – to touch, so he hurried to unclip his cloak and set it across her body. He knelt beside her, squeezing the small, white hand that escaped the cloth and dangled at her side. Her cheek was still down-soft when he made to touch it, the erotic power of the contact – the memories of her hand’s caress – enough to trigger a moan.

Moment by moment, some new vestige of warmth returned to her body. Her cheeks appeared to flush in response to the force of his fingers, her pallid lips turning a subtle shade of pink. He fancied that it was only a moment until she would begin to breathe again, watching her breast for any sign of movement.

As panic began to set in in the face of her terrible, unrelenting stillness, he began to speak, addressing her in a soft, tender whisper, voice teeming with emotion. “To have you again – to touch you again. I cannot describe it – I can only show you my devotion. Do you understand, Mother? If you do, you will show it. You will return to me. Please, open your eyes. I will give anything for you to breathe again.” He swallowed, struggling to speak. He closed his eyes, and moved to feed his final, pain-distorted words into her ear. “ _I love you_.”

No answer. He was overcome by this creature, this ultimate act of cruelty. He could not suffer her dead again, not now her body was here before him. It had been taken from him by force the first time – removed so the rites could be administered, so her worthless, perfunctory children could feign sorrow – but now it had been restored it was unbearable. She was dazzling, infinitely more beautiful in pale, goading flesh than in the ghostly, intangible form she had long since assumed in his memory. But to think that she would never breathe again. To know that he had been the one to engineer it. His mouth felt parched, and he struggled to swallow.

He rested his head upon her breast now, listening, hoping to detect a heartbeat, some residue of life. But there was no movement. No, more was needed.

Both his hands moved to her, one cupping her face and the other extracting the band from her hair, pulling it loose with his fingers. He arranged the hair carefully so it fanned over her shoulders, smoothing down the errant strands with his fingers. He nuzzled her, nipping her neck before moving to kiss her. She tasted fresh, the breath of life petrified within her mouth; the preservatives that clogged her veins had done their work well, keeping the rot of death at bay. If Falque had not been pegged for death from the moment he’d sent the FTL confirming his kill, Balem might have thought to thank him.

The moment was broken by the sound of the door grinding apart. Balem broke the kiss slowly, carefully caressing her hair upon parting. He exhaled, straightening and rising to his feet before turning to find Mr Night before him, the splice’s head bent low and betraying the mild disarray of his wig.

“Apologies for the intrusion, my lord. He is ready, should you wish to begin.”

“Good.” Mr Night bowed hastily, turning and hastening towards the door. Balem waited for a few choice moments before speaking again. “Mr Night?”

The splice looked back over his shoulder, his furred face damp from sweat. Balem was settling upon the seat, drawing the girl into his arms and tilting her gently so her head rested against his chest. The silence was drawn out to an excruciating degree, Balem never once lifting his gaze from the girl’s body. “Prepare my mother’s chambers for use. And summon the most trusted gene technicians in our employ. I desire to consult with them.”

Mr Night blinked slowly, taking a few moments to register his master’s meaning. “Of course, my lord. I will see to it immediately.” The splice ducked his head quickly in acknowledgement of the order, removing himself before Balem could stop him.

His mother’s body cradled in his arms, her flesh further warmed, he fancied, by the contact, Balem gestured for the floor to transform. The paving slabs vanished, revealing the grim, crudely lit lab below. Falque, strapped down to an artfully bloodstained gurney, had been positioned immediately below Balem’s feet, the attendant instruments of torture carefully arranged to allow for the best possible view. The blades began to spin with a nod from Balem, the needles and knives swooping forward and slicing into skin. Falque struggled and shrieked, his gargling, blood-choked cries passing through the glass to resound across the chamber.

Closing his eyes tranquilly, Balem pressed another kiss into the parting of his mother’s hair. His newly gentle breaths continued to pass across her scalp as he signalled for the torture to pause, murmuring into her ear with a soft tone. “Did you hear your murderer, Mother? His suffering will last until you breathe again – I will ensure he passes every day stolen from you in agony. And when you live once more, you will have his blood to drink and his body to spit on.”

And with his promise, Balem smiled.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty grim - all I can say is that the Abrasax family has a way of making me want to explore the more unpleasant facets of human nature. I see Balem as being completely unwilling to accept his culpability for his mother's death - which is why he transfers all the blame to her - so imagine he would be just as incapable of accepting responsibility for Jupiter's death, in the event of it occurring as a result of his order. At the same time, I do feel he'd want to see her body - to be sure she was dead and to look on her again with his own eyes. As in the film, I see him becoming completely unwound after he beholds her - more so here because she is dead, and so unable to interfere with his projection of Seraphi by speaking or acting out of line.
> 
> This was written in response to the second fic challenge run by the FuckYeahJupiterAscending tumblr - the different decision here, as it turns out, had very bad consequences.
> 
> Do let me know your thoughts in the comments!


End file.
